


Akashi... and Other Complications

by orphan_account



Series: Captains of this Ship [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Nijimura has always thought of himself as an uncomplicated guy with a, mostly, uncomplicated life. Very ordinary, and perhaps a little dull. He avoids things that are messy and troublesome. If he sees trouble coming, he tries his best to dodge it. Shield himself from it. He doesn't invite it into his house and offer it tea. Nope.</i></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>That is, he didn't. Until Akashi happened.</i><br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Akashi... and Other Complications

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I have returned (not really, just visiting) with this little something. Do enjoy, and let me know what you think. This is set after the events in _'All this Denial Without a Life Vest in Sight'_. It's like a sequel/continuation but told from Nijimura's view. You don't need to read [that](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2187894) to get this.
> 
> The idea for this story has been floating in my mind for weeks but I only managed to start writing it recently. Hope I got the characterisation right, 'cause there's so little of Niji in the manga, that I'm almost afraid to publish my version of him. But, whatever. Also, I switch between _'Nijimura'_ and _'Shūzō'_ for no reason other than that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Rated 'Mature' to be on the safe side, but there's nothing explicit.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nijimura has always thought of himself as an uncomplicated guy with a, mostly, uncomplicated life. Very ordinary, and perhaps a little dull. He avoids things that are messy and troublesome. Not because he's a coward, mind you. In his opinion, life throws out enough shit as it is, why should one go looking for it? When trouble does come knocking, however, he rolls with it. Adapting to the inevitable changes, and making the best of what he's given.

But, if he sees trouble coming, he tries his best to dodge it. Shield himself from it. He doesn't invite it into his house and offer it tea. Nope.

That is, he didn't. Until Akashi happened. Rich, privileged, and strait-laced Akashi, who's all broken glass around the edges, with more issues than Vogue. The middle-school kōhai who's pretty in a way that's not feminine, with wit that's sharper than a surgeon's scalpel.

Despite the loud ringing in his head that urges him to run, he doesn't. Instead, he leans in and lets Akashi kiss him, like it's the redhead's first time. Then, he invites the younger boy into his matchbox apartment and steals the boy's breath away.

When Akashi leaves, Nijimura sits on his tattered couch and sighs deeply. He buries his face in his hands and murmurs a quiet 'shit' to himself.

#

The vacation speeds by, and before he can process everything, he's back in Japan, and in university. The workload is ridiculous. Between school and his part time job, he's pretty much exhausted every night.

He hasn't seen Akashi since returning from the vacation he spent in America, visiting his family, but the redhead keeps in touch. Calls. Texts. That sort of thing. And their conversations haven't changed at all—school, basketball, current affairs. It's almost as if they hadn't spent countless hours on his couch sucking face like it was an Olympic event. And this, for some inexplicable reason, bugs him. And the fact that it bugs him annoys him.

He shouldn't be upset that things are still as they were; that making out with Akashi on several occasions hasn't complicated his life. Because that's what he had expected: complications. Emotions, questions, regrets, awkwardness. But the redhead remains as allusive and distant as ever. Nijimura should be relieved, really.

_I am_ , he tells himself, chewing his way through a mouthful of instant noodles whilst watching a terribly cheesy, small-screen drama.

#

Two weeks into the first term of university, Nijimura is in on his way home. It's his day off at work, and he's mostly up to date with school work, so he's planned to just go home, flop onto his couch and watch mindless television until he falls asleep.

On the way towards the campus entrance, he wonders if he has anything edible at home. Should he stop at a convenience store and pick up some snacks? Is he that hungry, anyway? Does he have dish-washing liquid in the house. Deep in his thoughts, he barely registers the person that falls into step beside him as if they're old buddies.

The guy's got longish black hair, looks to be about the same age as himself, built like a wet noodle—all long and lanky—and he's smiling like he knows something he's not supposed to.

“Nijimura-san,” he asks in a voice that's deceptively low, but not really. Like he's got a cold or something. Nijimura scowls, which only causes this stranger to beam. “Nijimura Shūzō? It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Do I know you?” Nijimura eyes the guy walking beside him, quietly appraising him. Do I know him? Is he a threat? He decides, after a while, that, if it comes to it, he'd be able to take this guy out. So he clutches the strap of his bag tighter and continues walking, not really waiting for a response. But he gets one anyway.

“I wouldn't think you do,” the other says. “Not unless Sei-chan has mentioned me.”

“Sei-chan?” The word is muttered under his breath, and in that moment he is certain of two things. Firstly, this guy knows Akashi, quite well it would seem from the sentimental tone in his voice when he says 'Sei-chan'. Secondly, he doesn't want to know why, but it kind of irritates him; this casual sort of intimacy this stranger has with Akashi.

He frowns without meaning to as he turns to face this stranger, who only smiles like a fool as the wind whips strands of dark hair across his face.

“I'm Mibuchi Reo,” he announces. “Let's be friends.”

#

He doesn't intend on mentioning his encounter with Mibuchi to Akashi when next they speak. In fact, he forgets the incident almost as quickly as the following day. It simply gets swallowed up in the tidal wave of school-work and work-work that hits him over the next few days. It really isn't even something to be concerned about. So what if Akashi's former senpai is attending the same university as him?

The campus is big enough to ensure that they don't see each other again for at least another year. So Nijimura forgets about it, and throws himself into being the kind of son and older sibling his family can be proud of. Can rely on.

By the end of the week, he's exhausted and hungry. After work, he stumbles home, drunk on fatigue and loneliness. It's not that he doesn't have friends; it's just that he doesn't have time. Holding down a part time job while maintaining grades that help hold down his partial scholarship is hard work. So much so that when he does have time, all he wants to do is crash somewhere soft and warm. Like his bed. Or the couch.

And that's precisely what he plans to do, until he gets to his front door and finds a casually dressed Akashi waiting for him—casually dressed Akashi is something of kink for him, he's come to realise. There's a school bag slung over his shoulder, an overnight bag on the floor, and expensive take-out in a paper-bag in his hands. Indian; one of Shūzō's favourites. The redhead is smiling that smile that makes something crack inside Nijimura—calm and somewhat sweet, with a touch of mischief.

“Does you dad know you're here?” It isn't a _'hello'_ or an _'I've missed you'_ , but it's what comes out of his mouth. And he regrets it almost immediately, because the smile on Akashi's face goes crooked. Only slightly and for only a moment, but it still falters. It makes him want to kick himself.

“That is,” he continues, trying to rescue the sinking ship for some reason. “I don't want to wake up to cops at my door thinking I've kidnapped you. Or something.”

“Father knows I'm here,” Akashi says, all formal and proper. “I told him you've offered to help me study. You're now my unofficial tutor.”

Nijimura hums his response and lets them into the postage stamp of an apartment he calls home. Self-consciously, he eyes his guest, watching for other's reaction. He always does this, as though he's concerned of what Akashi thinks of him, and his life. Every time, the redhead walks into the space without flinching or frowning, unaffected by the obvious differences between them. Even so, Nijimura can't help but wonder: _Why me? Why did you pick me?_

He's never asked, but he wonders. Which is just as troublesome, if not more so, because the only answer he ever comes up with is something along the lines of _'because you'll do, for now'_. One day, he's convinced himself, Akashi will leave. Therefore getting emotionally involved will only make the entire ordeal messy and ugly.

“I'll get plates and stuff,” he declares and walks off.

#

“I ran into Mibuchi the other day,” Nijimura says after the meal. They've eaten and cleaned up, changed their clothes and are seated on the second-hand couch that fills the tiny space of his living room. The couch isn't big, but there's this space between them that feels rather cold. It's almost as though they're strangers and not... whatever it is they are.

“Mibuchi did mention he would be attending the same university you are. I must have forgotten to tell you.”

“He knows who I am.” The words are out in the open before his brain has a chance to process them. They sound accusing, and a little pouty. Akashi turns his gaze on him, eyes dim with after-food laziness, an amused smile spreading across his delicate features—the overall look shouldn't have him wanting to leap across the canyon between them and rob the redhead of his oxygen. “It's kinda weird to have a stranger call you by name. I was surprised.”

“Mibuchi's a little odd. One day, while you were away, he unexpectedly came out and asked me _'what's her name?'_ as though asking such personal questions is acceptable. But I gave him your name. And I may have told him you were headed to the same school. I hope you don't mind.”

The older boy shrugs and the conversation lulls, while he thinks of something to say. Akashi returns his attention to the book he has been reading. It's strangely quiet, and awkward, but only for him. The redhead seems perfectly comfortable with the quiet.

“He calls you 'Sei-chan'?” It was less of a question, than it was a statement. Akashi chuckles, the sound of it warm and fond. It grates at the older boy's nerves for a reason he doesn't wish to explore. Ever.

“He's always been rather affectionate.”

That, against his better judgement, pisses him off. So he scowls. And Akashi pretends not to notice. Later, he'll offer his bed to Akashi and fall asleep on the couch—cold, frustrated, and alone.

#

“You didn't sleep well,” Akashi states, sipping his tea like some regal being looking down on him. Only he's not—the redhead actually looks concerned—and all of it is in Nijimura's head. So he groans and mumbles into his mug of coffee.

He wants to say _'I slept on the couch... of course, I didn't sleep well'_ , but Akashi will probably retort with something sensible like _'we could've shared your bed'_. Which will probably piss him off, because that's actually what he'd wanted—to sleep in his bed, with Akashi in it. But, the previous night, a thought had distantly dropped in his mind, like a bomb going off in another country: Akashi is still under-age. Seventeen years, and a few months short of twelve. Which means that all of this could be (technically is) illegal. The redhead doesn't seem to care.

But Nijimura does. At the same time, he really wants to reach over and tangle his fingers into the younger boy's messy bed hair, pull him close and incapacitate his lungs. Maybe lay him on the cheap couch and touch him all over until he can't form coherent words. And then--

“Your face is quite expressive,” Akashi says, a knowing smirk laced into his voice, and a sly smile on his face. “Care to share, senpai?”

“Not until you're eighteen, kid,” Nijimura retorts as nonchalantly as his dry throat will allow him. He doesn't clear his throat because it will just seem more incriminating, even though he's clearly been caught out already. “Hurry up and grow already.”

“I'll do my best, Nijimura-san.” Akashi's tone is very serious, but the slightest touch of pink blossoms across his face when their eyes meet. It's all Shūzō can do to not throw reason and discipline out the window.

“I kind of hate you, you know.”

Akashi continues smiling.

#

Late on Sunday evening, Shūzō lays on the sheets that still smell of Akashi's expensive shampoo with a hand down his sleeping shorts, and only his imagination for company.

The shame hits the following morning when he's stripping the bed to do laundry. Shame, and longing.

_Not cool_ , he concludes.

#

He had been late for his first class, he's hungry, and a little upset that he hasn't seen Akashi in about three weeks. Logic reasons that Akashi's busy. It _is_ his third year of high school, and he's the captain of the basketball team, as well as chairperson of the Student Council. On top of all that, he's Akashi Seijūrō, which seems to be a heavy burden to bear in and of itself.

So he tries not to think about the dull thud of regret and missed opportunities thrumming at the back of his consciousness. The day wanes on in a slow sort of blur. Maybe I'm tired, he concludes just before running into a tall, lanky figure he wished never to have run into again. But, alas, he's never been that fortunate.

“Nijimura,” Mibuchi greets, a none-too-genuine grin mars his features. “What a surprise.”

“Tell me about it.” He's about to sidestep the taller guy, when Mibuchi invites him to have coffee at a nearby shop.

“Not really,” Nijimura starts, hunching his shoulders as a sort of barrier that does nothing to deter the former Rakuzan shooting guard.

“They have these really nice sandwiches, made with crusty bread and exotic sauces. You'll love it. Come.”

Nijimura is offended that this guy, of all people, would assume that he'd like such over-the-top things. He's a very simple guy, low maintenance. Easy going. Just because he's... dating—it is dating, right?—Akashi, doesn't mean that his tastes have changed. Even so, he tags along, because Mibuchi says it's his treat, and Shūzō's sort of (very) broke.

“How is Sei-chan doing?” Mibuchi asks when they've settled at a rather secluded table in dark corner of the café. They must look ridiculous. Or suspicious. Their waitress watches them with a knowing glint in her eye. _Fujoshi_ , his mind offers. Nijimura only just manages to bite his tongue about the other not being his type. Because, apparently, he likes 'em kinda short, slightly tyrannical, emotionally dysfunctional, and too-cool-to-touch.

“I'm pretty sure you have his number,” he says into his cup of really strong coffee, trying to hide the sharpness from his voice—smooth it over with good, old-fashioned indifference. He really doesn't like this guy and his endearing nicknames. It's embarrassing enough that he's jealous, he doesn't need others to know it.

“But I want to hear from you. He's been spending his weekends in Tokyo recently, right?”

“Why do you know so much about him.”

“Because I like him.”

Nijimura chokes on his drink. Mibuchi grins in response.

“Yes, as a friend,” —Mibuchi continues without missing a beat, waving his hand dismissively— “and more. But, it would seem you beat me to the 'more'. Sei-chan's quite taken with you.”

_As if_ , he counters internally.

“He is. I wonder if he knows that the feeling is mutual.”

#

The next time Akashi stays the night, Nijimura cooks. Fried rice, fish, and a random assortment of vegetables. Because Akashi is the well-balanced-diet type. Which has somehow led to Nijimura having healthier meals. It's quite odd, the older boy thinks, how quickly—and deceptively—the redhead has woven himself into the fabric of Nijimura's life.

For the entire summer, Akashi has been around; every weekend. Unabashedly ogling him when he walks around without a shirt—it's his place, and it's hot, dammit. It was a matter of circumstance, and not because he kinda liked the way Akashi's cheeks flushed every time their eyes met when Nijimura caught him looking. He did like it, but that's not why. Not entirely. However, the season's were changing; sweltering heat giving way to cool breezes and falling leaves.

They sit on the couch and eat in relative silence until Nijimura clears his throat.

“My family might be becoming to visit in the Winter.” The statement is so terribly out-of-place, but he throws it out there like an open hand; reaching out. “Well, that's if the doctors deem my dad fit to travel.”

Nijimura's not mad at having to share bits of himself, his life, with Akashi. That's what... couples do—it's so weird to think of their relationship in those terms. He's only upset that he had to be told—reminded—by someone like Mibuchi, who really gets on his last nerve. Like an itch you can't quite scratch. But, if they're going to make this work (which Nijimura has begun to realise is something he wants, quite a bit), then they have got to put in some kind of effort. While Shūzō believes Akashi is trying, he's also painfully aware that the redhead is, without doubt, emotionally stunted. So, the duty of feelings-initiator falls on him.

_More complications_ , Shūzō reflects.

He watches as Akashi stares at him with a myriad of emotion subtly flickering across the other's face. It's interesting, actually. Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Akashi shifts his gaze slightly away from the older boy's face and speaks very softly.

“How _is_ your family?”

#

Akashi's visits become less frequent, the deeper into winter time falls; it's to be expected. The redhead's final Winter Cup is within grasp, and entrance exams are looming just beyond that. Even so, Nijimura's not terribly ashamed to admit to himself—and only himself—that he sort of misses Akashi's presence. They're an odd pair, but after months of 'getting to know each'—the phrase is so cliché, it sounds like something out of a badly-written romance novel—they've carved out a semblance of a relationship. Something that could, possibly, stand a chance in the real world.

Nijimura's proud. Even though he's still not getting any—which he's also a little proud of; he's managed to out-wrestle his carnal urges, and Akashi's blatant advances, for this long. 

But, when he wonders into a shopping mall and sees all the Christmas decorations that are already up in every store, he's consoled. _Akashi turns eighteen before Christmas_ , he reminds himself as though doing so will make time move quicker.

#

He's not sure how it ended up like this. It's as though Fate herself took time out of her schedule to orchestrate this ridiculous song and dance.

Nijimura is seated to the right of a beaming Mibuchi, who offers a play-by-play on the match currently taking place on the court to whoever will lend him an ear. On his right is a bulky behemoth who keeps commenting on how small (and weak) all of the players look to be; he was introduced as Nebuya. To the right of him, is a relatively short guy with spiky hair and an inferiority complex—Hayama. These people, he's come to learn, are Akashi's former team-mates. And senpai.

The details as to how he ended up seated with them are a bit fuzzy. He'd actually come to watch Akashi's last match as Rakuzan captain, because that's what boyfriends do. 

_Boyfriends_ , he thinks. _We have labels now_. He shudders at the thought of being called 'hon' or 'babe'.

It was meant to be a quiet, clandestine undertaking: get in, watch, cheer internally from the stands, leave. And never speak of it. To anyone. That brilliant plan was tossed out of a moving train when he'd got to the entrance and a group of guys his age approached him. Said plan had died an undignified death when he recognised the one as being Mibuchi.

The noodle had smiled and asked if he wanted to sit with them, gesturing to the other members of the motley crew. Nijimura had offered an eloquent 'huh?' as a response. He has no recollection of how they'd managed to get him to walk with them, and then sit with them like they were old buddies, but they had. And it wasn't that bad. Well, not as terrible as he had thought it would be. So he watches in silence, trying not to be enthralled by everything Akashi does on the court—he's as amazing as ever. Damn him.

The match ends, bringing about the end of the Winter Cup and, most likely, the end of the redhead's formal basketball-playing days. Nijimura's attacked with a sense of nostalgia as he watches the players shake hands. This is how it all began. Shūzō's never been one for deep, double-meaning things, but he takes a moment to take it all in before leaving the stadium.

Former Rakuzan invites him for dinner and drinks. He declines; partly because it's a week before pay-day and he's beyond broke. Also, he's pretty sure these guys are just fishing for inside information about Akashi-the-lover. Something he doesn't want to divulge, not that he has much to divulge anyway. So he heads home, counting down the days to pay-day.

Akashi's birthday is the day after.  


#

On pay-day, Nijimura leaves work and heads for the supermarket—gotta stock up on the essentials before the money disappears. As he's leaving the store, he bumps into two familiar faces and a scowling redhead with strange eyebrows.

“Nijimura-senpai,” Kuroko greets quietly, bowing slightly. Aomine grunts, and eyebrows-boy just stands there beside Kuroko like an extra limb; awkward and out of place. The meeting is quite unexpected, though it feels as though he's the only one experiencing the 'surprise' element to this encounter.

“Were you following me?” he asks, partly joking, mostly curious.

“Yes,” the shortest of the boys answers, shame clearly writ on his inexpressive face. He proceeds to bow deeply, and passers-by give them strange looks. “Forgive me.”

“We commissioned Tetsu to spy on you and Akashi,” Aomine announces, not quite making eye contact, though it's difficult to tell if it's because he's embarrassed or disinterested. “We wanted to make sure you're okay.”

“We?”

“Kise-kun and Murasakibara-kun aren't in Tokyo,” Kuroko explains. “Midorima-kun said he didn't want his involvement to be known, and Momoi-san is busy today.”

Of course his delinquent kōhai would stalk him. Because this was them, and they could never do anything like normal people.

“I'm pretty sure you've all got phones. Calling is what normal people do.”

“Yeah, but we needed physical evidence. You can't get that over the phone. He's treating you well, then? No cuts or bruises? This relationship of yours is consensual?”

“Aomine-kun...”

“ _What?_ Kise wants to know.”

The younger boys look at him, and he stares back with what they must interpret as confusion. Kuroko sighs and hands over the huge gift bag he had been holding. There's something inside, gift-wrapped by a professional. “Please give this to Akashi-kun for us. It's our birthday gift for him.”

“Couldn't you just give it to him yourselves?” _I'm not your delivery boy_ , he doesn't add.

“Ah, well. You see... it would seem...”

“Akashi's turning eighteen tomorrow, right? It's pretty obvious where he's gonna be all day.” Aomine leers knowingly while the tall redhead—whom nobody has bothered to introduce—blushes something furious.

“Aomine-kun! That's inappropriate.”

“Huh? What's inappropriate is what this guy—” the dark-skinned boy tilts his head in Shūzō's direction, self-satisfied grin firmly in place “—plans to do with our friend tomorrow.”

Somehow, by sheer force of will, Nijimura doesn't blush. He doesn't even flinch. He only takes the bag from Kuroko's outstretched hand and walks off before any more attention is attracted. “Don't make a habit of making me your messenger boy,” he throws out over his shoulder.

He's not quite certain, but he thinks he hears a small voice reply with a quiet _'take care of him Njijimura-san'_.

He doesn't know how to interpret that.

#

It finally happens. Sort of. And it's nothing like what he had been expecting. Nobody sticks anything into anyone's anywhere, but there is a lot of friction. It's new and scary-exciting and, soon, thoughts of _am I doing this right?_ melt into the background.

It's awkward and sweaty, wet and messy. They're too close, yet not close enough. And Nijimura feels as though he might explode—figuratively and physically—when Akashi whispers his name into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Like a plea, and a promise. It's all over rather quickly, though.

They lie there in silence for long, drawn-out minutes, before Nijimura decides that Akashi will probably want to wipe down. They clean and dress up in a silence that's heavy with expectation.

“So,” Nijimura starts, voice gravelly from... yeah. “That was different.”

“It was awkward,” Akashi declares without hesitation. He crawls under the covers with a kind of grace one shouldn't have after such activities, staring at a spot somewhere past Nijimura's shoulder. He looks as though he's about to pass out. “But it wasn't unpleasant. I believe that it becomes more pleasant with experience.”

“For someone who's held so many leadership positions, you have such a roundabout way of asking for what you want.” Nijimura throws himself onto the bed and shifts until he's close to the other.

“I'm game to go again. For as long as you'll have me.” God, that sounded so sappy. And clingy.

The redhead offers one of those not-quite-a-smile smiles, and cards his fingers through Shūzō's hair. “You'll be able to deal with me for _that_ long, huh?”

The older boys grins stupidly—like Aomine used to when Kuroko would pay him a compliment back in middle-school. It's embarrassing, and he vows to chastise himself for it later. Maybe when Akashi's busy studying for the university entrance exam.

“Sure.”

#

The morning after Akashi's birthday, Nijimura watches from his small kitchen as the redhead unwraps his gift from the brats. It turns out the gift is actually a collection of gifts from his kōhai, stuffed in a box that could have only been provided by Momoi. The redhead rummages through the box with a perplexed look on his face.

“Not what you wished for,” Shūzō asks as he settles a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea on the table, beside the box. He's taken special care in selecting the brand of tea Akashi likes best—it cost a small fortune—and prepared it as per the instructions.

“Not at all,” Akashi replies, pulling out a pair of handcuffs covered in black fur. The redhead holds out the item with a single finger, as though it harbours some fatal disease. “What do you suppose they expect me to do with this?”

Nijimura eyes the handcuffs, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “Aomine?”

“Kise, actually.” Dropping the offending gift back into the box, he takes up his tea and turns to the older boy with a gravely serious look on his face. Before sipping the beverage, he pauses. “I'm a little concerned about what people think my preferences are in... this area.”

Shūzō grins at the slight colour that pours onto Akashi's face. “You give off a certain vibe, Sei. It's to be expected.” His heart gives a strangely uncoordinated thump when the redhead looks up at him with wide eyes, lips parted almost invitingly. “What?”

“You didn't call me 'Akashi'.”

After a pause to think it over, Shūzō nods affirmatively. “Well, it's better than than _babe_ , and less pretentious than _kid_. You'd better not call me something ridiculous or embarrassing. I'll kick your ass.”

A comfortable silence falls as they sit next to each other on the couch, sides brushing together when either one of them moves. Nijimura watches as Akashi eyes his tea with a great deal of wonder after taking the first sip. He's a little proud of the smile that graces the other's lips as Akashi's fingers curl around the mug and hold it close.

“Thank you for the tea. Shūzō.”

_Heavens, I'm pathetic_ , he thinks to himself, but he can't find the strength to be bothered. _But I can live with this_.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I really like Earl Grey tea.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
